


Crystal veil

by Zombieheroine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybertron, Love/Hate, M/M, Made For Each Other, Pining, Possessive Behavior, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/pseuds/Zombieheroine
Summary: The battle for Crystal City is beautiful and bloody. Megatron is searching for his match.





	Crystal veil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonni/gifts).



> My friend [Bonnini](http://bonnini.tumblr.com/) prompted me a while ago wanting something of Megatron who's jealous of other Decepticons fighting Optimus, so I wrote this one. 
> 
> My friend Floweryhanzo did a light beta reading for this and said that I sure like things action-fueled, dramatic and *epic*. I can't argue. I really liked the setting I chose for this.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The battle of Crystal City went down in history as one of the bloodiest and most beautiful battles of the War for Cybertron. 

It was a long, hard struggle on the ground but after the Vosian air-force joined the battle the Decepticon front pierced through the Autobot line of defense, and after that it was like a flood of fire taking over the city. The tall buildings made of crystal and glass didn't exactly crumble or collapse as much as they shattered, raining millions and millions of glimmering shards from the high heavens all the way down to the ruined black roads. What little remained of the internal structures of the shattered sky-scrapers and towers were covered in melted glass that ran like liquid in the heat of the bombs and flames. 

Megatron wasn't in the front line but he was certainly in the field, one couldn't mistake him for anyone else as he was leading the second wave of soldiers in an arrow head formation, efficiently sweeping over the scattered, retreating Autobot ranks. 

Even if it wasn't the front line Megatron was still fighting as if it was: as if he was the one trying to breach the enemy front, to run up against a steady wall of defense, and in charge of either opening the path or offlining trying. He finally had his war, finally got to tear it all down and set fire to everything of old, everything was going to be burned clean, and he wasn’t about to do things by half. 

So he fought on, he fired his fusion cannon towards the fleeing soldiers, and whenever he got close enough he sliced down his sword, the very same he had had since the Pits and had carried all the way here. The energon splattering from the bots getting shot and torn apart all around him seemed even hotter on his plating than the fires from the bombs did. 

“Starscream!” he yelled into the comm over the thundering noise of the battle, “split your air force into smaller hit teams and spread them along the front!” 

The seeker sounded almost bored when he acknowledged the order, and mere kliks later the flyers above soared up, breaking off from the fire fight and disappeared into the black smoke above the city, regrouping and forming new attack formations. 

Megatron would have been a fool if he didn't appreciate his air force, but he preferred to keep his own pedes on the ground and take a more hands-on approach to the battle. Starscream sounded almost detached from the battle, content to keep his distance and play it safe, and Megatron knew he would never understand choices like that. What fun was a fight without direct contact? What pleasure could there be if you didn't get to pound your fist against your opponent's armour and destroy it? What kind of a satisfaction would all this death and destruction be if he wasn't elbow-deep in it himself?

Nothing. 

It felt like it was truly raining glass, so never-ending the shower of crystal shards was, clinking and jingling as they hit Megatron's helm and armour and bounced off. He wished the battle would never end. He wished there would be an endless supply of Autobot soldiers for him to demolish, shoot and slice in half. Only spilled energon and fire could soothe that wound, the void inside that had been carved into him by being nameless and worthless for so long.

But even if his hunger was tended to as he greedily rampaged through the previously so clean and orderly streets of Crystal City and destroyed anyone and anything that happened on his path, even when he was the very tip of the sword that was his army, there was still something missing. He was reaching for something more than simply tearing down these buildings of glass and crystals and slicing through rows of enemies, and that was to strike through that red mark each enemy was bearing.

Except the mark they were wearing was something more than a simple shield on armour. It wasn’t just a mark, it was a symbol, and behind it was greater meaning, something that Megatron’s sword couldn’t reach no matter how hard he struck.

That shield, the symbol, stood for something, someone, and only striking that mech would soothe the rage.

And yet no matter how Megatron searched the battle field, the enemy he yearned for was nowhere to be seen. The city was coming down around them and enough sky-scrapers had rained down as shards of glass that the landscape was starting to resemble smooth plateaus of fire, but still the hastily retreating Autobot troops were missing their greatest weapon. 

Frustrated, Megatron growled to himself and ordered his army to regroup. The order was sent out to the strike unit too, and the advancement halted for a moment when the Decepticon soldiers fell back into their assigned places behind their commanders. The wounded and the offline were quickly counted and the useless ones were hauled behind the lines for scrap. The weapons were reloaded and ammo was spread equally among the troops.

It was a fast regrouping and the orders were still the same when they moved again: Search and destroy. Cover as much ground as fast as you can, take no prisoners. 

The short break did nothing to calm Megatron down, and the same rage was still fuming within him when they moved again, and this time he took his rightful place in the front. He was the opened fire, the first flame, the tip of the sword, and when he moved he pierced through his enemies like they were nothing more than tin foil. No one was his match. 

The glass rain had turned from sharp to wet as the glass and crystal melted in the shimmering hot air. Drops of red-white glass hit the ground and the fighting bots, and despite his fury Megatron noticed those droplets sluggishly running down his armour. Liquid glass and energon mixed together and probably reflected the flames around them. There was no end in sight.

It felt like the cruel grinding of the battle had gone on for a small eternity before the retreating Autobots finally regained some of their spirit. Even in retreat they closed ranks, the able took the wounded and ran ahead before the bots still in fighting condition took their places and met the advancing Decepticons and returned fire. It seemed that they had finally found more ammo as bullets and grenades joined the blaster fire again, and Megatron grinned as the fight regained some of its spice again. Now their enemy was pushing back again, and cutting them down like this was so much more rewarding than chasing the fleeing troops had been only moments ago. 

Megatron felt his battle fury flaring and his old grudges treated by its caress. 

And then at last, only a (former) block or so ahead of him, midst the crystal ruins and flaming fire and black smoke, showered in the same glass rain as he was, stood the greatest war machine the Autobots had, and Megatron felt his spark burning at the sight. 

Optimus Prime’s armour might have still been cooling down after the recent upgrade, but the mech carried it like it was a part of him already, his transformation perfected and the full power of it realized. Optimus still wielded his new blades like he was holding them rather than them being a part of him, but he was a terrifying opponent to any foe that came within range. Now he was as built for war as any mech from the Pits, and yet he still moved fast and light like he had before, a blur of red and blue and silver as he stood his ground.

Here was the point where the free advance of the Decepticon side was finally being stopped, all because the Prime had brought order to his troops and set the line of defense right there where he stood and obviously refused to move. Autobot soldiers around him joined the front with newly found courage and motivation, and the battle formed on place.

Megatron passed on new orders for his troops, creating dense units that he ordered to strike the Autobot front as one and pierce through anywhere they could and break the line of defense, but he had to admit that Optimus had chosen the place for the stand-off well: Here the buildings had already collapsed and thus the environment was mostly stable, the roads were wide and the heavy stone bridges built over them were still intact, creating higher ground and cover for the defense, and with only a quick glance Megatron could see that if they wanted to strike through here they’d have to make it through the bottleneck that the heavily manned bridges and roads created. 

But that was of no import now: The city had lost already. There was nothing behind except rubble and fire, nothing worth guarding, only ground to conquer, and the battle would sort itself out according to that soon. What Megatron cared about was that red and blue war machine that had become the tip of a sword for the Autobot army, standing his ground high and mighty and dominating the field with his presence. 

Optimus had his face turned upward as if he was facing off the entire enemy air force like that instead of only the beak of it: The ground forces around him were dealing with the Decepticons on pede, and Optimus alone was watching over them and firing his ion blaster towards the three seekers making attack dives at him.

He dodged missiles and blaster fire, dancing on his place but never taking a step back. His defense was grounded and solid, his blades and blasters returning everything shot in his direction while his strong armour took the grazing missiles and plasma shots like they were nothing. He protected his troops from the assault from above while his troops watched his back, the Prime never having to lower his gaze from the sky.

Megatron gritted his dentae, shook his sword dry of energon and opened a comm line. “Starscream,” he snapped, “take your flyers and attack the back of Autobot lines!”

When Starscream responded the previous indifference was replaced with hard surface probably hiding strain: “My Lord Megatron, the anti-aircraft fire is too strong there. We cannot break through!”

“Then take on the edges of the front line! Just get away from the front! Now!”

No further argument followed, the seeker was probably content to retreat anyway, and as Megatron readied his sword again with his optics on his prize the seekers firing at Optimus soared up and didn’t come back down. 

Among all his rusted grudges there was one fresh wound, one throbbing ache that no amount of energon spilled or Autobot shields destroyed soothed. Megatron stepped forward, breaking off the line of his soldiers with his sword ready and fusion cannon cycling up. The first step away from the line felt like breaking the sound barrier, like he was piercing through an invisible wall into a different plane of existence while his spark beat like trying to power up every single battle protocol and weapons system his frame had. But after that first move his steps became light, and suddenly his frame didn’t weigh dozens of tons but was as light as a droplet of crystal falling from the sky. He sprang forward. 

“Optimus!” he roared as he charged towards the Prime, the other sword’s edge, the new war machine, his traitor of a brother. “OPTIMUS!” The world on this side of the invisible wall was quieter, the blaster fire only a faint buzz in the background as Megatron charged. He swatted the enemy soldier around him aside like they were nothing, their fire or blades grazing him or even directly hitting him feeling like nothing, and then, at last, Optimus lowered his gaze form the sky and met his optics.

Little Orion was no more. Something grand and terrifying had been written over that little archivist, something who would take equal footing with Megatron, something Megatron had expected to loathe for that, but now as he met those flaming blue optics and was welcomed with a sword he knew he could never hate this, only hunger for it. The little spark that had been Orion Pax had flared into a flame, forged into this war machine in the core of their world only to be returned here, as the grand jewel in Megatron’s war, the final and greatest thing to be conquered. 

Megatron brought down his sword and Optimus received the blow with a blade of his own, the battlemask guarding his faceplate but his optics glowing and giving away every emotion he could have hidden behind the mask. Their linked swords vibrated and rattled the armour of both, and the lock held for entire three kliks. 

“Optimus,” Megatron hissed through his gritting dentae before the Prime dissolved the lock of their blades, throwing them both back before re-engaging with equal force, “there you are.” 

Megatron’s spark was beating hard and steady and shimmering with something he soon recognized as joy. Even if the rest of the battle would be endless, there was no greater pleasure in store than the one here, with just the two of them. For Megatron, defeating Optimus would be the sweetest victory he would ever taste, and his systems cycled up to maximum power just at the thought of reaching that. 

“You kept me waiting,” Optimus replied as he dove into a fresh attack with his blade first. 

A roaring laugh tore itself from Megatron as they entwined into their private battle. Optimus was like he was, covered in energon and glass, and he was more beautiful now than he had ever been. His optics glowed as blue as the energon running down his plating, and he was covered in a thin crystal veil that splintered as he moved, its cracks reflecting every colour of the spectrum when light hit them. 

The rest of the battle was forgotten, it was all just background noise. This was it, this was the meaning of it all, this was the core of the entire war. And Megatron loved every single swing of a sword, every blow, every burn, and every cut, everything he could give and receive from this, from the opponent he was made for.


End file.
